


this, the darkest night

by RaisingCaiin



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: (HoMe canon-based), Gen, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, M/M, Melkor is creepy, Power Imbalance, The Valar are weird, Winter Solstice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 07:40:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13095501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaisingCaiin/pseuds/RaisingCaiin
Summary: The seasons in Middle-earth are utterly different from anything that existed in the West.Mairon would not have his Lord think that this difference changes anything more than need be changed.





	this, the darkest night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sigurfox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sigurfox/gifts).



> An atmospheric little winter solstice fic for Sigurfox/Afoxamongthetrees
> 
> A little birdie told me that your favorite kinds of Silmarillion fic were about the Ainur, and Angbang, and I wanted to say thank you for all of your amazing comments lately :)

There were no seasons, in the West That Was. The light of the Trees was such that flowers and shoots, blossoms and blooms, grew and burst with indiscrimination. What few crops were needed, what limited hunts were indispensable, could be had without regard to anything save the needs of the Children and the regards of the Powers – silly and slight as were the former, and sillier, slighter still, as Mairon had come to see the latter.  

And then the Trees were slain, their last-fruits caught up in shaking hands. And then those fruits, newly sheathed in finest vessels of silver and gold, were entrusted to servants – to _slaves_ – of even temperament and unquestioned devotion. And then those vessels, poor and shoddy replacements as they were, were set upon courses across the sky, ostensibly untouchable by those who would sully even their pitiable and supposed splendor.   

And so there were seasons, upon the far shores. A time of bright-splattered bud and bloom, followed by a time of slow and sultry plenty. A time of riotous multi-hued death, and a time of monochrome silence and slumber.

But they were only fruits, the sun and the moon – they were not Laurelin and Telperion.

Not that even Laurelin and Telperion could have stood against his Lord when He wished them dead, Mairon reminded himself with a grim burst of satisfaction. Thus bolstered for whatever might come, he strode out upon the battlements.

A great shadow at the parapets, silhouetted darker still against the jet-black sky, told Mairon what he had already suspected – that the Lord of the World knew what night it was.  

He did not turn upon Mairon’s entrance.

He never did.

Approaching Him was a curious dance, a struggle for balance that in any other circumstances Mairon might have found beautiful – for its desperate precision, if nothing else. For one could not stand beside the Lord of the World, as though one presumed themselves His equal, but neither did one dare stand too close behind Him, for the possibility that He would imagine a challenge, and strike one from existence if disturbed or suspicious or merely even playful.  

He was a mercurial god, the Lord of the World, and even in this He enhanced Mairon. Made him complete by challenging him to learn and adapt and perfect himself.

Mairon had never been prouder to serve another. Or even to serve, at all.

“My Lord.” This time, this iteration of the dance, he settled for scuffing his steps as he approached, that the Lord of the World would mark his passage as he stopped a respectful distance from His back. “The servants told me that You were not to be found, this night.”

**_I AM IRKED._ **

“My deepest regrets.” He had never meant the phrase before. Until he came here, and found that he would take up any task, any challenge, any burden, if it might ease a whit from the Lord of the World. “If there were anything I might offer You. . .”

The shadow before him radiated a cold sort of anger, distant and untouchable.

**_SHE IRKS ME._ **

“Anything.” He fell silent, after this repetition, but he held his place. Either the Lord of the World would tell Mairon how he might be of service, or He would not, but Mairon would be remiss if he allowed any possibility of misunderstanding to remain - especially this night, when the sun was absent for the greatest time. 

He was not Arien. He was not one to bow in blind obedience to the Powers, as she had, or to extend a work solely upon Their senseless demands, as she had.  

He would not refuse the Lord of the World His right demands, as she had.

**_COME._ **

The raiment he wore stepped forward, as if compelled by a will other than his own.

Mairon did not fight it, but went.

 ** _STOP_**.

His raiment ceased its forward motion, coming to a halt alongside the Lord of the World. Mairon stepped back into synch with it, and waited.

**_THOU KNEW’ST HER._ **

He would not dishonor Him by prevaricating. “In some slight capacity only, for she served the Ever-Young as a tender of flowers before she received Your offer of favor.”

The Lord of the World had approached Arien before He had come to Mairon himself. If she had said Him yes –

Mairon might serve Aulë yet.

**_THIS DISPLEASES THEE._ **

With shadow as the form He had taken this night, Mairon could not quite discern where precisely the Lord of the World directed His gaze, but he was not fool enough to think that it had not alit upon him.

One did not lie to the Lord of the World, if one did not wish Him to think one had something to hide.

“I am displeased to remember that she rejected You.”

**_WHY._ **

And yet – there were ways, sometimes, to tell Him the truth without exposing one’s self in an overly unseemly manner.

“I would not see You denied in such a manner.”

 ** _WHY_**.

Because. . .

If he kept himself focused elsewhere, Mairon wondered, would he be able to offer a more satisfactory answer? He did not know. But beneath the walls upon which he stood, the snow spread white and pure, and beyond the plane upon which he had been bound, the stars shone cold and clear forever.

And the Lord of the World beside him, shadow though He appeared, was yet colder, more incorrupt, than even these.  

He could not match these attributes. Perhaps that knowledge of his own shortcomings, and the impossibility of ever improving upon them, was what gave Mairon the strength to speak.  

“Because You are the right ruler of this world, my Lord,” he said, soft as the snow below and distant as the stars above. “And either Arien knew this, and still she denied You, or else she could not see this, and so she denied You. But I am of like kind, and I – I would make up for her shortcomings, if there were any way I might.”

An ordinary shadow had no hands with which to grasp his chin, no strength with which to force it high. And yet. This shadow was his Lord, and so Mairon’s head was raised, as if to regard Him full-on.

**_THOU KNOW’ST I WOULD HAVE HAD HER FLESH._ **

He knew. “Yes, my Lord.”

**_THOU KNOWS’T I WOULD HAVE HAD HER SPIRIT._ **

He had always known. “Yes, my Lord.”

**_THOU KNOWS’T I WOULD HAVE RAISED HER AS MY RIGHT HAND._ **

He had – long suspected, and feared, as much. “I do now, my Lord.”

**_THOU WOULDS’T OFFER THIS, IN HER PLACE._ **

No.

“No, my Lord. I seek not to replace one who ever left You cold and wanting, and still does, hiding herself in shame and sending her paramour in her place these long, long nights. Instead, I would offer all this – my service, my spirit, my flesh did You wish it – in my own place. Of my own accord. Not because I am coerced, but because I deem it Your right to ask, and my honor to fulfill.”

The shadow-that-is-not-a-shadow dissipated upon his very flesh, and Mairon’s head was suddenly free. He watched with reverent awe as the Lord of the World took shape again before his eyes, and this time, as a creature of the flesh much like Mairon had shaped himself.

“Thou art sure,” the Lord of the World said. His voice was low, and rough, when mediated by lips and tongue, voice and lung.  “Thou wilt be Mine creature.”

“Yes, my Lord.” Mairon had never been so sure of anything as he was now sure of this, this fiery joy that he could outstrip even the missing sun, on this darkest of nights.


End file.
